RESURRECTION TO ALL THOSE WHO MOURN MAHA by S. ASHTON-WARNER Te Ao Hou is very pleased to print this moving tribute, by the celebrated author of Spinster. It appears with the permission and approval of Mrs Winiata. A hearse leaves the Tauranga hospital, moves slowly through the gates and out upon the street. At the time the Autumn day is dry enough but as the casket is carried away from the town out into the suburbs the sky darkens for some reason. Rain comes first, then lighthing and in no time follows the thunder. Does he hear all this, the still sleeper in the casket? By the time he has arrived at the Judea Meeting House he must be able to hear it, so loud has the storm become, bursting overhead to drown the lamenting. But no, he cannot hear it. As the casket is lifted out and set down in the shelter Maharaia Winiata still sleeps. Something wakes me; a stroking, a fingering. I try to open my eyes but I must have been sleeping long. To the sound of weeping I sink back into oblivion. But something wakes me again; this same stroking, and a fingering with human longing in it. Who is disturbing my slumber? But my eyelids are still heavy and cold and will not open. So am I heavy and cold, oh how heavy. My bed is very hard too, and narrow. Wherever am I sleeping? Somehow I must wake up; somehow I must life the weight of these lids. What a strange bed I am in. Here I am lying enclosed in narrow walls, the sides padded with satin. These scents too … what are they? They're like the perfume of many flowers. This sound of weeping, this scent of flowers … it makes me think of death. But who could be dead near me? I look upward. Above me I see the rafter patterns of a distinguished Meeting-house; the ceiling